


pure of heart

by bayloriffic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, F/F, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's a prostitute, and Regina's a businesswoman who hires her for a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of scenes/lines in this first chapter have been borrowed from _Pretty Woman._

Emma wakes up to pounding at her door, an insistent, angry banging that jolts her out of a deep, dreamless sleep. The apartment’s dim, late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the half-open blinds, and the knocking is just so _loud_.

Emma sits up groggily, blinking blearily around her apartment. She didn't get to sleep until almost noon, and whoever’s banging on the door won’t stop, and Emma’s just very, very tired. 

“Go ‘way,” she mumbles, rolling over and pulling her pillow over her head, holding it there until the banging stops. 

She must fall asleep again after that because the next thing she knows, it’s dark and blessedly quiet. It’s also swelteringly hot, the little window air unit not churning out any cool air, despite the fact that Emma's had it going full blast for the past few days. Boston's in the midst of an Indian summer, and without the air running, it's got to be ninety degrees in the apartment.

When Emma stumbles out of bed, she's drenched in sweat, and when she tries to turn on the light, it doesn’t work, the apartment still dark and unbelievably hot. It doesn't take long for her to put two and two together and realize the power’s been shut off. Which makes sense because she didn't have enough money to pay the electric bill last month. Or the one before.

She gets dressed in the dark, pulling on a bright pink mini-dress and splashing cold water on her face, trying to tell herself that it's not too bad, that the night will probably get better from here.

And then she leaves her apartment and notices the pink paper taped to the door. It only takes her a second to realize it’s an eviction notice. Well, _shit._

*

It’s a slow night, and, judging by the emptiness of the street, too hot for most of Emma’s regulars to be out. Normally, she'd just call it a night, but if the eviction notice is to be believed, then she needs to scrape together the last hundred dollars of her rent before tomorrow or she's going to be out on the streets.

So she stands on the corner, sweating in her tight pink dress and wishing she'd have stuck with the bounty hunter thing a little longer. She was kind of terrible at it, but anything would be better than this.

She thinks she might be on the verge of heat stroke when a sleek, black Mercedes screeches to a halt just a few feet away from her corner, the car idling at the curb. 

Emma gives it a minute, but the car doesn’t leave, so Emma adjusts the hem of her dress and makes her way over to the car, sauntering a little despite the heat, hoping the sleazy businessman in the Mercedes is watching her in the rearview mirror and liking what he sees. 

But when she gets to the car, it’s not a sleazy business man behind the wheel, it’s a woman, an attractive brunette in a grey silk suit. When she notices Emma, she presses the button to roll the window down.

“Excuse me?” she calls.

Emma smiles, crossing her arms and leaning against the open window. It’s cool inside the car, the air conditioner going full blast, and Emma figures this woman will be good for at least the hundred she still needs for her rent. Maybe more. “You looking for a date?” she asks.

The woman rolls her eyes. “I’m looking for the Four Seasons. Could you tell me how to get there?”

“The Four Seasons?” Emma laughs. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, lady.”

“I know that,” the woman snaps. “That’s why I’m asking for you for directions. Can you help me or not?”

Emma glances up and down the street. It’s dead out here tonight, and she's pretty sure if she has to stand on this corner another minute, she's going to drop dead from the heat. So: “Sure, I’ll help you,” Emma tells her. “For ten bucks.”

“I’m not paying you for directions,” the woman scoffs. 

“Fine,” Emma shrugs and pushes away from the window. “Good luck finding your hotel.” 

She’s only made it about three steps before the woman calls out for her to stop. Emma smiles to herself before turning around with a look of disinterest. The woman’s leaning across the console, a folded bill held between her fingers. “Do you have change for a twenty?”

Emma smiles, and before the woman can stop her, she’s opening the door and ducking inside. “For twenty, I’ll take you there myself,” she says, taking the money and tucking it into the top of her dress.

“No, that’s not necessary–-” the woman starts, but Emma cuts her off.

“Go down the block, and take left at the light,” she instructs, buckling her seatbelt and reaching out to adjust the vents so that some of the cool air is directed her way.

“Excuse me,” the woman says. She hasn’t made a move to put the car in gear, but Emma’s got the money and she’s starting to cool off, so there’s no way in hell she’s getting out of the car.

“Take a left at the light,” Emma says again, ignoring the way the woman’s glaring at her, this look on her face like she’s about to kick her out of the car. 

“You’re not serious,” the woman scoffs. 

“Listen, lady. You want to get to your hotel, I know how to get you there. We can sit here and argue about it, or you can just drive.”

The woman stares at her for a few beats, like she’s trying to decide what to do. Emma stares back.

Finally: “Fine.” She puts the car in gear and eases away from the curb before glancing at Emma sidelong. “But as soon as we get to the hotel, I want you out of my car.”

Emma smirks, relaxing as she leans back in the cool leather seat. “Not a problem.” 

“So,” she says, as she takes the left. “How far are we from the Four Seasons?”

“We should be there in an hour or so,” Emma jokes, but even in the dim light of the car, Emma can see the woman’s face fall.

“An hour?” she repeats, sounding horrified. 

Emma shrugs, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to a straight face. “Give or take.”

To truth is, they’re only a couple of miles from the Four Seasons, but Emma’s not in any rush to get out of the cool car and back into the muggy night, and she figures twenty bucks should get the woman more than a ten-minute drive, so. Might as well give her a tour of the city while she’s at it. 

*

The only problem is, the short tour of the city that Emma’s planning hits a few kinks, namely that the woman driving is absolutely terrible at following directions. 

She misses at least three turns that Emma tells her to take, goes the wrong direction down a one-way street, and, finally, ends up missing their exit, the last one before the bridge, and before Emma knows it, they’re actually leaving the city.

“Jesus Christ, lady,” Emma finally complains, as they pull yet another U-turn to get them back in the direction they’re supposed to be going. She shouldn’t have even bothered trying to take them the long way back to the hotel, since even if she’d been giving the right directions, it really would have taken this woman an hour to drive the five miles to the hotel. “You suck at following directions.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You suck at this,” Emma tells her simply, gesturing towards the window as they pass back over the river. 

“I most certainly do not.” The woman sounds legitimately offended, like she has absolutely no idea what Emma could be talking about even as she misses yet another turn.

Emma glances out the window, shaking her head as the street they were supposed to have turned down fades into the distance. “You’re joking, right?”

The woman glances over at her, eyes narrowed, and then she’s pulling over, the car screeching to a stop at a red light. “Get out,” she says.

“Seriously?” Emma asks. Even in the darkness, she can see the heat waves rising off the pavement, and chances are good that if she has to walk home in this, she's going to die of heat stroke. 

“Get out of the car,” she says, her voice taking on a sharp, dangerous edge. 

Emma scoffs, dragging a hand through her hair. She’s miles from her apartment, but at this point, she’s not which would be worse: dealing with this woman or slogging through the heat. Besides, she’s still got the twenty bucks; she can just grab a cab. 

So: “Fine,” she says. “Good luck finding your way to –-” she starts, but before she can finish, the woman’s getting out of the car, walking behind the car and wrenching open the passenger door, letting in a gust of hot, humid air. 

“Get out,” she says again.

“What the hell?” Emma says, pushing herself out of the car so that she’s standing toe-to-toe with the woman. She’s shorter than Emma expected, and everything about her is manicured and well-styled and polished. 

“Have you ever driven a Mercedes?” the woman asks.

Emma rolls her eyes. “No,” she admits.

“Would you like to?” 

Emma blinks. “Seriously?”

“Seriously," she says. "I'm beginning to think it's the only way we'll ever get through this hellish maze of a city." She presses the keys into Emma’s hand, her fingers pleasantly cool against Emma’s palm, and for some reason, Emma shivers a little at the touch. She closes her hand around the keys and darts around the car before the woman can change her mind.

“So,” she says, sliding into the driver’s seat and adjusting the mirrors. It's a really nice car, sleek and expensive and comfortable, and Emma wishes like hell this woman was actually interested in something more than a chauffeur. “What brings you to Boston?”

“I’m here on business,” the woman says, buckling her seatbelt and staring out the front windshield.

“Oh, yeah?” Emma says, trying to sound interested. Chances are, they’re just going to get to the hotel and Emma will hop on the bus back to Roxbury, but who knows. Maybe this actually could turn into more than twenty bucks and an hour in a luxury car. “What do you do? Business-wise, I mean.”

“I’m the mayor of a small town in Maine.”

Emma lets out a low whistle, and the woman’s mouth twitches. “Mayor, huh? Impressive.”

“Yes, well,” the woman says, but Emma can see that she’s smiling, her blood red lips curled up at the corners.

“So you’re here on business, Mayor…?” Emma trails off, glancing away from the road and raising her eyebrows in question.

“Mills,” the woman supplies. “Regina Mills.”

“Regina,” Emma repeats, glancing over at her thoughtfully. The name fits, somehow; there's something about the way she holds herself – kind of regal and superior – that reminds Emma of pictures she's seen of royalty. "I like that. It suits you." 

Regina rolls her eyes. "How far are we from the hotel?" she asks apparently not in the mood for small talk.

Emma hesitates, glancing over at her. If they turn left at the next intersection, they’ll be at the Four Seasons in about two minutes, if they turn right, it’ll be at least five. She flicks the turn signal down and takes the right. "Not far."

Regina frowns and glances down at her watch, like she's going to be timing the drive. Emma rolls her eyes as discreetly as she can. “So,” she says. “You’re here on, what? Mayor business?”

“Something like that,” Regina confirms. “And what about you, dear?”

“Why am I in Boston?” Emma asks doubtfully.

“What’s your name,” Regina says slowly, in a tone that implies Emma’s a complete imbecile.

“What do you want it to be?” Emma asks.

Regina just raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.

So: “Emma,” she admits. “Emma Swan.”

“Tell me, Miss Swan,” Regina says, folding her hands primly in her lap and looking at Emma appraisingly. “How much do you charge?

Emma blinks, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. “Excuse me?”

“What’s your going rate?” Regina clarifies, like maybe Emma didn’t understand the question. 

“For the night?” Emma asks, surprised.

“For the week.” 

“The week?” Emma repeats, stalling. The truth of it is, she’s been doing this for over a year, and no one’s asked for more than anything other than an hourly rate.

Regina nods. “I’m here until Sunday, and there are a number of functions I’m going to need to attend,” she says, sounding bored. “I don’t know my way around the city, which is where you’d come in. You will chauffeur me around, accompany me to business dinners, do whatever I ask of you. In short, you will be my beck-and-call girl.” 

“Seriously?” Emma glances at her sidelong as she brakes for a red light.

“Seriously,” Regina says. “How much for the week?”

Emma hesitates, looking over at Regina, sizing her up. She’s impeccably dressed in a sharp grey business suit and a cream-colored silk shirt that probably cost more than Emma’s made this year, and the car is worth more money than Emma’s ever seen in her life. So: “Five thousand dollars,” she says. 

Regina laughs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Five thousand dollars,” she repeats, sounding amused. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and trying to sound nonchalant. The light turns green and she accelerates, looking away from Regina. “You want a whole week.”

“And five thousand is the going rate?” Regina says wryly.

“That's right,” Emma confirms, trying to sound confident as she turns onto Boylston. She can see the sign for the Four Seasons just up the block.

Regina glances at her, her gaze flickering up and down Emma's body, taking in her too-tight dress and her scuffed heels, and she smiles. "Somehow I doubt that, dear."

Emma doesn't respond. They've finally made it to the hotel, two guys in valet uniforms hovering outside the car, waiting for them to get out.

“Okay, then, Miss Swan,” Regina says, like five thousand dollars is nothing to her, like she normally puts prostitutes on her payroll. “It's a deal.”

Emma just blinks at her. It’s just...she was not expecting the woman to agree, not without at least some negotiation. Beside her, Regina’s smiling, a obnoxiously superior look on her face, one that makes Emma think that she might be getting in over her head.

Still, though. Regina doesn't seem too bad; she's obviously rich and she's kind of clever and she's also almost unbelievably beautiful. Plus: Five thousand dollars. It’s really not much of a decision at all. 

“Well, Madam Mayor,” Emma says, holding out her hand to Regina. When Regina shakes it, her skin is warm and soft against Emma’s, and there’s a funny little feeling that sparks between them, bright and alive, like electricity. It makes Emma's breath catch, and her stomach flip. “I guess that means I’m yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Four Seasons is, by far, the nicest hotel Emma’s ever been inside. This late, the lobby’s mostly empty, but Emma tugs on the hem of her skirt and then crosses her arms over her chest, feeling incredibly conspicuous as she trails Regina across the black marble floor.

“Keep up, Miss Swan,” Regina calls. She’s already on the other side of the lobby, waiting by the bank of elevators, watching Emma with an obnoxiously amused look on her face. It’s almost enough for Emma to call the whole thing off, tell Regina to screw her five thousand dollars and her expensive car and her fancy hotel. Almost, but not quite.

So Emma just uncrosses her arms and squares her shoulders, holding her head high as she steps into the fancy elevator and watches as Regina presses the button for the highest floor.

They ride the elevator in silence, both of them standing on opposite sides of the car. Emma forces herself not to fidget, keeping her eyes straight ahead, staring at Regina’s reflection in the mirrored doors, until they get to the sixth floor.

The room Regina’s staying in looks more like an apartment than a hotel, and when they get inside, Emma just stands in the foyer, not sure where to go until Regina tosses her keycard onto the a table next to the door and heads to the left. Emma follows her down a long hallway and into a living room that’s bigger than Emma’s entire apartment. 

“Impressed?” Regina asks, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. 

Emma shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s okay, I guess.” She walks slowly around the room, running her fingers along the smooth, polished wood of the piano and the soft, rich velvet of the couch, trying not to look as intimidated as she feels. 

Regina just smiles, amused, blood red lips curled up at the corners. "Would you like a drink, Miss Swan?" she asks, heading over to a small bar on the far side of the room.

"God, yes," Emma says, grateful. The room is just making her a little jumpy, with all of its luxury and over-the-top excess.

Regina picks up a crystal decanter and pours two tumblers of what looks like scotch, holding one out to Emma. When she takes it, their fingers brush and she feels that spark again, palpable and electric, and her stomach flips.

Regina must notice it too; her eyes go wide and she pulls her hand away a little too quickly. She takes a long swallow of her drink and goes over to the the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Are you ready to discuss the terms of our agreement, Miss Swan?” 

“I thought we already discussed the terms,” Emma says, confused. “I spend the week at your beck and call, and you give me five grand.”

“Yes,” Regina says, crossing her legs and taking another drink. “That is the gist of our deal. However, I’ve found with business arrangements, it’s important to be as specific as possible.”

“Fine,” Emma says, leaning against the window frame, and taking a sip of the scotch. It's bitter and a little smoky, warm as it makes its way down her throat. “Lay it on me.” 

But before Regina can start with the terms, her cell phone rings. She glances at the caller ID and it’s like her whole bearing changes, her posture going less rigid and her smile turning gentle and almost sweet, all her sharp edges softening. She holds up her hand towards Emma in a give-me-a-minute signal as she flips the phone open.

“Henry?” she says. And whoever Henry is, he must respond, because Regina smiles into the phone and disappears down the hallway. A few seconds later, Emma hears a door click shut. 

While she’s gone, Emma explores the suite. There’s a full kitchen, and an enormous bathroom, and a dining room with a huge wooden table, and the whole place is just completely absurd. Emma should have asked for way more than five grand; obviously, this woman is more than good for it.

Once she gets to the closed door, she can hear Regina talking in a low voice, so she turns back around and heads for the living room, giving Regina her privacy. 

One whole side of the living room is windows, and Emma heads over there, looking out onto the park. There's a balcony, too, but even the thought of going out into the heat is too much, so she just stays inside the cool of the room, staring out into the night. She can see most of the city from here, and it looks beautiful in the dark, the lights from the buildings looking much more sparkling and romantic than they do from her crappy little place in Roxbury. 

She’s not sure how long she stands there, sipping her drink and looking out over the city, but eventually she hears the door down the hall open and Regina walks out, still holding her phone to her ear. “Goodnight, Henry,” she says. "I love you." When she gets to the living room, she flips the phone closed and heads back over to the bar to refill her glass.

“Husband?” Emma asks, turning away from the window.

“I beg your pardon?” Regina asks.

Emma nods at the phone. “Was that your husband?”

“My son,” Regina says with a soft smile. 

“You named your kid Henry?” Emma asks skeptically.

“Yes,” Regina says a little defensively. “Why?” 

“It’s just kind of a weird name for a little kid, is all. How old is he?”

“Why do you want to know?” Regina demands, all the softness from earlier suddenly evaporating.

“Just making conversation,” Emma says with a shrug.

“Yes, well, make it about something other than my son.”

“Geez, lady, sorry.” Emma holds her hands up in surrender, making mental note not to ask about the kid again. “So,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back against the window. “You wanted to go over our terms?”

“Yes,” Regina says, settling on the sofa again. “As I told you earlier, I’m here on business. I’ll be leaving on Sunday morning, which means you’ll be at my disposal until then. You will drive me to all appointments, accompany me to all events, and provide any other –” she pauses to flick a gaze up and down Emma’s body – “ _services_ that I deem necessary. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Emma says. 

Regina nods, looking satisfied and taking another drink. "Well, now that we've got that settled--" 

"Actually," Emma interrupts. "I've got some terms of my own I'd like to go over.” 

“Do you?” Regina says, sounding incredulous.

“First,” Emma says, holding up her index finger. “You pay me half of my money tonight, and the rest at the end of the week.”

Regina scoffs. “I’ll give you a thousand tonight, and the remainder at the end of the week,” she tells her, keeping her eyes locked on Emma's. 

Emma considers that for a few seconds. Even if Regina does try to stiff her, she does get a grand for just tonight. That’s enough for rent this month and the next, so: “Fine,” she agrees. “Second: as far as the ‘services’ you’d like me to provide, I’ll do anything you want. Except I don’t kiss on the mouth.” 

Regina smirks. “I doubt that will be an issue, Miss Swan.”

Emma smiles, and pushes away from the wall, sauntering over to where Regina’s watching her from the couch. “You know, if we’re going to do this, you should probably just call me Emma.”

“This is a business arrangement,” Regina says, but she’s watching the sway of Emma’s hips, her eyes dark. “Not a romance.” 

Emma smirks and sits on the coffee table in front of Regina, close enough so that their knees are touching. She takes Regina's drink out of her hand, letting her fingers rest against Regina's a few beats longer than necessary, and then sets both of their glasses aside. 

“So what should I call you?” she asks, reaching out to trace one finger lightly across Regina’s knee, her nails rasping against the silk of her stockings. “Miss Mills? Madam Mayor?” Emma ghosts her fingers up a bit higher, smiling a little when Regina’s eyes close and her breath catches. She leans in, close enough to whisper teasingly into Regina’s ear, “Your majesty?”

Regina jerks away and her eyes fly open. “What did you just say?” she demands, reaching out lightning-quick to grab hold of Emma’s wrist. 

“Jesus,” Emma gasps. Regina’s nails are biting into the skin around her wrist, and Emma wrenches her arm out of her grasp. “Relax. It was just a joke.”

Regina studies her for a couple of seconds, a serious look on her face, and Emma doesn't know what she did wrong, but she does know that there’s five grand at stake here, so she takes a deep, steadying breath, resisting the urge to rub her sore wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Regina says, but she doesn’t sound sorry at all. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there are some things I need to do before my meetings tomorrow." She gets up without another glance at Emma, heading over to the desk on the other side of the room and pulling a stack of papers from a briefcase on the floor.

Emma just sits on the coffee table for a couple of seconds, trying to get her bearings. She's not quite sure what just happened, but Regina's studiously ignoring her, shuffling through the papers at the desk. Finally, Emma just shrugs to herself. The television remote's on the arm of the couch, and she grabs it, taking Regina's spot on the sofa and flicking on the TV. She kicks off her heels and puts her feet up on the table, snagging Regina's half-full glass of scotch and flipping through the channels until she lands on an old Katharine Hepburn movie. Over at the desk, Regina glances up at her, a look on her face Emma can't read.

"Is this going to bother you?" Emma asks. Regardless of Regina's sharp edges and sudden shifts of mood, Emma's not about to lose five thousand dollars because she's got the TV on too loud.

"It's fine," Regina says shortly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing back down at her papers.

Emma watches her for a few more seconds, and then turns her attention back towards the television, to where Hepburn and Cary Grant are arguing, but looking for all the world like they're going to kiss.

*

The movie's almost over when Regina gets up from the desk and wanders over to the couch, sitting next to Emma, close enough so that they're almost touching. She's taken off her heels and her suit jacket, and she looks tired, dark circles under her eyes, but she's looking over at Emma, watching her watch the movie.

Emma glances at her sidelong, watching Regina watch her, and she then reaches for the remote, muting the television. “So,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and shifting closer to Regina, making sure that the dark pink fabric of her dress rides up, exposing a pale expanse of thigh. She smiles to herself as Regina flicks a glance down, licking her lips. “This town you’re the mayor of...what’s it called?”

Regina blinks, dragging her gaze away from Emma’s thigh and back up to her face. “Storybrooke.”

“Storybrooke?" Emma repeats. "Seriously?”

Regina smiles back, like she’s in on the joke. “Seriously.” 

“Sounds quaint,” Emma says. She reaches up to trace her fingers along Regina’s collarbone, teasing her, dipping her fingertips below the collar of her blouse.

“What are you doing?” Regina says, her breath catching in her throat. She’s gone incredibly still, and her breathing has gone ragged.

Emma smiles a little and leans over so that her lips brush against the hot shell of Regina’s ear. “What you hired me for.”

“I didn’t hire you for this,” Regina says, and Emma can tell she’s trying to sound imperious, but her voice wavers.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Emma murmurs. Regina doesn't answer, so Emma moves her fingers down, flicking open the top button of Regina’s shirt, smiling to herself when Regina inhales sharply. When Regina doesn't pull away, Emma leans in to press a kiss against the soft skin below Regina’s ear. “What do you want?”

“What do you do?” Regina breathes. 

“Everything,” Emma tells her.

“I thought you said you don't kiss,” Regina reminds her, her tone strangely sharp. 

“Oh, I kiss,” Emma says lightly. To illustrate her point, she presses her lips against the pulse point below Regina’s ear, flicking her tongue across Regina’s skin until she gasps. “Just not on the mouth.”

When she pulls back, Regina’s watching her, her eyes dark and her face flushed, spots of color high on each cheek. She looks a little dazed, like maybe she really wasn’t expecting this, like maybe she did just hire Emma to drive her around town for the week, but she’s certainly not protesting now, so Emma closes the small amount of distance between them, moving so that she’s straddling Regina’s lap, her knees on either side of her thighs.

Up this close, she can smell Regina’s perfume – it smells sweet and almost familiar, like apples, maybe – and Emma ducks her head to kiss Regina’s jaw, trailing kisses down her throat. Emma can feel Regina’s pulse fluttering rapidly just under her skin, and when she places a hand against Regina’s chest, her heart is pounding. 

The silk of her blouse is cool and thin beneath Emma’s hand, and she dips her fingers inside the open collar of Regina’s shirt, skimming her fingertips across the swell of Regina’s breast, smiling to herself when Regina gasps, writhing underneath her.

She makes her way down Regina’s neck until she kissing along her collarbone, working at her shirt buttons at the same time, her fingers brushing up against the bare skin of Regina’s stomach. 

Once she gets her shirt all the way unbuttoned, Emma leans back, sitting on Regina’s knees to get a better look at her, deciding how she wants to proceed. For her part, Regina just stays where she is, which surprises Emma a little. She figured Regina for the kind of client who would take charge, the kind who would order Emma around, tell her what to do and how to do it. But she doesn’t; she just sits there with her shirt unbuttoned and her skirt rucked up around her thighs, watching Emma with wide, dark eyes. 

There are a couple of throw pillows on the couch, and Emma grabs one, tossing it on the floor at Regina’s feet and pushing herself down until she’s kneeling in front of her, resting her chin on Regina’s knee. 

She watches Regina’s face as she slides a hand between her legs, stroking her thumb along the soft, warm skin above the lace at the top of her stockings, smiling against Regina's leg as Regina's eyelids flutter closed.

It’s incredibly quiet in the room and Emma can hear the way Regina’s breathing changes, getting short and quick when she drags her fingers further up under her skirt, her breath hitching in her chest as Emma’s fingernails scrape against the bare skin of her upper thigh. 

When Emma glances up again, Regina’s head is tipped back and her eyes are still closed, her open mouth, her lips red and wet. Emma works Regina's skirt up, pushing it up around Regina’s hips, before she leans back down presses a kiss against her leg, running her tongue along the smooth, tan skin above her stocking. Above her, Regina makes a quiet, desperate noise, the muscle in her thigh jumping slightly beneath Emma’s mouth. 

Regina reaches down to card her fingers through Emma’s hair, holding her close as Emma settles between Regina’s legs, kissing her way up Regina's thigh as she gets to work.


	3. Chapter 3

When Emma wakes up, Regina’s looming over her, looking perfectly coiffed and put together in a sleek black business suit. 

“What time is it?” Emma mumbles. It's still mostly dark in the room, just some early morning sunlight filtering in through a crack in the curtains, and Emma squints sleepily up at Regina, gathering the sheet around her and clutching it to her bare chest as she sits up. 

“Almost seven,” Regina says, like this is a totally reasonable time and not the earliest Emma’s woken up in over a year. 

“Ugh,” Emma groans, flopping back onto the bed and pulling the pillow over her head. The sheets are cool and soft and they smell like fabric softener and she never, ever wants to leave this bed. Unfortunately, Regina has other ideas. 

“I have a meeting across town in an hour,” she says, and even through the pillow, her annoyance comes through loud and clear. 

“Isn’t there a car service or something that can drive you?” Emma complains, pulling the pillow off of her head and blinking up at Regina. She's beautiful, all bright red lips and flawless tan skin, but still. It’s early and Emma’s tired, and she has a feeling Regina’s just doing this to be difficult. “You must be paying like a million dollars a night for this room, can’t someone from the hotel drive you around the city at the crack of dawn?”

“Yes, actually,” Regina says with a shrug. “But I’m paying _you_ to drive me around, Miss Swan. And I expect you to do so.”

“Seriously?” She knows she’s whining, but she doesn’t care. It’s way too early to be awake. 

She starts to burrow further under the covers, but then suddenly Regina grabs the sheets, whipping them off the bed, leaving Emma naked in the middle of the bed.

“What the hell!” Emma sits up, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s chilly in the room, and she shivers slightly as the cool air hits her skin.

“Get up,” Regina snaps, tossing the blankets on the ground. But Emma sees her gaze flicker down to her naked body, and Emma smiles, uncrossing her arms and leaning back on her elbows. 

“You sure you want me to get out of bed?” Emma asks, biting her lip and looking up at Regina through her eyelashes. “Because that’s not what you said last night…” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and tucks one arm behind her head, watching with a smile as Regina flicks her gaze down Emma’s body, a blush creeping up her neck as she looks at Emma.

Emma takes advantage of Regina’s distraction, sitting up just enough to take Regina’s hand, threading their fingers together. When Emma touches her, Regina inhales sharply, the flush moving to her face, her cheeks turning pink. She barely has to tug on Regina’s hand to pull her down to the bed, sitting so that her skirt-clad hip is pressed right up against Emma’s bare skin. Her breathing is ragged and her pupils are so wide that her eyes look black. 

She’s decided to forgo the stockings today, and Emma smiles to herself as she trails her fingers up Regina’s smooth, tan thighs. When she realizes that stockings aren’t the only thing that Regina decided to forgo, her smile gets even wider. 

“Why, Madam Mayor,” Emma says in mock-admonishment, stroking her fingers between Regina’s legs until Regina gasps and lies back on the bed, so her head is next to Emma’s on the pillow. 

Emma turns on her side, her forehead pressed to Regina’s temple, her nose brushing the softness of Regina’s hair. She smells like shampoo, clean and vaguely citrusy, and Emma watches her face as she touches her. 

Emma presses one finger inside of her, then two, watching as Regina closes her eyes and tips her head back, her forehead scrunching up and her mouth falling open. Emma pulls her fingers out slowly, a unexpected spark of desire building inside of her as she feels the tension build inside of Regina’s body. 

When she thrusts her fingers inside of Regina again, Regina makes a quiet, desperate sound, and Emma shifts slightly on the bed, biting her lip to keep from gasping when as her hips rub up against the soft fabric of Regina’s skirt. 

Emma tries to ignore the wetness between her own legs and starts moving her fingers in a regular rhythm, using her thumb to flick gently at Regina’s clit, until Regina’s rocking her hips, following the rhythm Emma’s setting, her breathing getting fast and ragged. 

They’re still holding hands, and Regina’s grip tightens as Emma speeds up the pace a little, her fingernails biting into the back of Emma’s hand, and a jolt of pain-pleasure shoots through her. 

When Emma slides a third finger inside of her, Regina cries out, clenching hot and wet around Emma’s fingers as she comes, her eyes clenched shut as she writhes against Emma’s hand, shuddering and shaking. 

Emma pulls her fingers out slowly, watching as Regina’s breathing slows down again, strangely fascinated by way her chest rises and falls under the shiny red fabric of her blouse. 

After just a couple of seconds, Regina opens her eyes sits up, letting go of Emma’s hand and tugging her skirt back down around her thighs as she gets out of the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Emma asks, confused. She still feels a little unsettled, that tight knot of tension still buzzing warm in her belly. 

“I told you, Miss Swan. My meeting is in less than an hour,” Regina says. Her tone is back to its normal, all snide imperiousness, but her voice is rough and a little shaky. 

“Ugh, seriously?” Emma complains. 

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” she tells Emma, staring her straight in the face. Her cheeks are still flushed, and she reaches up to try to smooth down her mussed hair. "It is what I'm paying you for, after all."

“Actually,” Emma says, narrowing her eyes and glaring up at her. “You haven’t paid me yet.”

Regina rolls her eyes and stalks across the room, grabbing her wallet off the dresser. She opens it and pulls out a stack of bills, counting out ten hundreds as she walks back over to Emma. “Here,” she says, handing Emma the cash. “Now get out of bed.”

Emma blinks. “Jesus, lady. You normally carry that much cash around?”

“Ten minutes, Miss Swan. Or our deal is off.” Regina turns on her heel, stalking out of the room without a backwards glance, and Emma groans, tossing the pillow off her head and forcing herself to roll out of bed.

*

Emma doesn’t have enough time to shower, so she just pulls on her wrinkled dress from the night before and washes her face in the super-fancy bathroom, the marble floor cool under her feet. 

Back in the bedroom, she pulls on her heels and grabs the money Regina gave her -- ten crisp one hundred dollar bills and the crumpled twenty -- tucking them into the top of her dress. After she drops Regina at her meeting, she can head back to her apartment and square away the rent situation. 

By the time she walks out into the living room, Regina’s pacing in front of the windows, glancing at her watch. When Emma walks into the room, she snaps her head up. “What the hell are you wearing?” Regina says by way of greeting.

Emma looks down at her dress and then back up at Regina and says, “My clothes?”

“You look like a streetwalker!”

“I am a streetwalker,” Emma sighs, too tired to be offended. There’s a half-eaten fruit plate sitting on the coffee table and she sits on the coffee table, leaning over to grab a couple of grapes. 

“No, you’re my assistant,” Regina corrects her. “At least for the week.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Well, this is the only thing I have, so unless you want me to drive you around naked…This is what you’re getting.”

Regina sighs and looks at her watch again. “Damn it,” she mutters, running a hand through her hair. 

She looks legitimately stressed, so Emma grabs a couple more grapes and pushes herself to her feet. “Listen, I’ll stay in the car when I drop you off at the meeting, and then I’ll head over to my apartment and pick up some more appropriate clothes, okay?”

“Fine,” Regina says with a dismissive wave, but she’s looking at her watch again and Emma’s not even sure she hears her. “Let’s go.”

*

By some miracle, Emma actually manages to get across town in less than an hour, pulling up to the address Regina gave her a couple of minutes before eight. 

“What time do you need me to be back?” she asks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your meeting?” Emma says. “When is it over?”

“I’m not just giving you my car for the day,” Regina scoffs, and then holds out her hand. “Give me the keys.”

“I told you I needed to stop by my apartment,” Emma says. 

Regina just stares at her blankly, her hand still held out, waiting for the keys.

“So that I could get some clothes?” Emma prompts. “Since apparently I’m currently dressed like a ‘streetwalker’.”

Regina blinks. “You’re not taking my car.”

“How the hell do you expect me to get to my place?” Emma demands, leaving the keys right where they are. “It’s miles from here!”

“I’m not letting you just drive off with my car.” Regina crosses her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at Emma.

“I’m not going to steal your car, lady,” Emma says, crossing her arms and glaring right back. Finally, Regina glances down, looking at her watch, and Emma only barely stops the smug smile trying to break out on her face.

“Fine,” Regina says, opening the door and then turning back to Emma. “But if you’re not back here in exactly three hours, I’m calling the police.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says, waving at her dismissively as she puts the car in gear. “I’ll be here.”

*

Regina’s meeting really is miles from Emma’s apartment, and with traffic it almost takes her an hour to get across town. 

It’s shaping up to be another incredibly hot day, her dress sticking uncomfortably to her skin, the money she has tucked inside already feeling a little damp. She parks the Mercedes at the curb directly outside her apartment, close enough that she can keep an eye on it from her window. The last thing she needs is for Regina’s car to get stolen, and her neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest spot for luxury cars. 

She’s halfway up the sidewalk when she remembers the eviction notice, and Emma stops right where she is, trying to decide what to do. The money Regina gave her for last night is more than enough to pay this month’s rent and her electric bill, but...She sighs, staring up at her crappy building with its dingy windows and its rusted-out fire escape, and she makes a decision. The truth of it is, she’s been in Boston for too long anyway, and after Regina pays her the rest of the money, she can go wherever she wants. She’s still never been to Tallahassee.

So she slips inside the building as quietly as she can, glancing nervously at her landlord’s door down the hall. He doesn’t usually wake up before noon, which should give her plenty of time. The eviction notice is still taped to her door, but her stuff isn’t piled out in the hallway, so she takes that as a good sign. 

It’s swelteringly hot inside her apartment, but at least there’s enough sunlight coming in from the window for her to see pretty easily. After a quick glance outside to make sure Mercedes is where it’s supposed to be, Emma starts pulling her clothes out of the closet, tossing them into a messy pile on the bed and then stuffing everything into a giant duffel bag. 

After grabbing a couple of essentials -- her toothbrush, her make-up bag, the pathetically small box of mementos she’s collected over the past twenty-seven years -- she crams those in too, zipping the bag up as best she can.

By the time she’s done, she’s practically drenched in sweat, and she’s got more than an hour before she needs to pick up Her Highness. After another quick check on the car, she tucks the money Regina gave her this morning into the pocket of her duffel bag and then strips off her dress before hopping into the shower, gasping in shock as the freezing water hits her skin. _Fuck._ Damn electric bill.

Once she's out of the shower -- shivering, but clean -- she wraps herself in a towel and then tries to figure out exactly what she should wear. She ends up settling on a pair of dark jeans and a white oxford. It’s not a pantsuit or whatever Regina probably wants her to wear, but she’s just driving around town, not escorting her to the opera or something, so. Jeans should be fine. 

She's got her hand on the door knob when her phone beeps, and she drops the bag to pull phone out of her pocket. It's a text from a number she doesn't recognize, and she frowns slightly as she reads it.

_My meeting is ending early. Be here with my car in 15 minutes, or I'm calling the police._

Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs the phone back in her pocket, resisting the urge to text Regina back and ask how she even got Emma's number. But if she's going to make it back across town, she needs to get moving. So she picks up her bag, grabs her favorite red leather jacket off the rack by the door, and closes the door behind her, leaving without looking back.

*

By some miracle, she makes it across town just under twenty minutes, but Regina's already standing on the sidewalk, her arms crossed over her chest and a pinched look on her face. She's got her phone pressed to her ear, but when she sees Emma, she snaps it closed and walks over to the car.

"You're late," Regina snaps, settling into the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. Despite the heat, she looks cool, her makeup still perfect and not a hair out of place. "I said fifteen minutes."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You didn't give me much notice," she points out. "How'd you get my number, anyway?"

"I checked your phone this morning while you were sleeping," she says, like this is no big deal.

"You snooped through my phone?" Emma asks, incredulous.

"I needed to know how to contact you," Regina says.

"You could have asked!"

"You were sleeping," Regina tells her, shrugging one shoulder and pulling down the visor to check her makeup in the mirror. "Besides, you're my employee."

"That doesn't mean you can just look through my stuff!"

Regina flips the visor back up, and then looks over at Emma. "I thought you were going to put on some more appropriate clothes."

"I did." Emma grits her teeth, trying to stay civil.

"You think _that_ is appropriate?" Regina nods down at what she's wearing with a look of disdain.

"What the hell is wrong with what I'm wearing?" Emma demands.

"Is there a clothing store nearby?" Regina asks instead of answering.

"Yeah," Emma says, confused. "Why?"

"Because Miss Swan," Regina says, looking over at her with a little smirk. "I'm taking you shopping."


	4. Chapter 4

They drive around for what feels like forever before they find a mall that Regina deems acceptable, which of course means it’s the type of place Emma would never step foot in on her own. 

Luckily, it’s early enough that there’s almost no one there yet, but Emma still trudges behind Regina as she pushes through the tall glass doors of Neiman Marcus. Inside, the department store is bright and huge and Emma immediately feels like she’s being watched by snooty salespeople, but Regina just strides down the aisles like she owns the place, finally stopping in front of a section of women’s suits that look suspiciously like the one she’s wearing.

“Okay, Miss Swan,” she says, looking Emma up and down. “Let’s see what we can do.”

“I don’t need you to buy me anything, Regina,” Emma protests. Just being in the store is making her uncomfortable, the soft, tasteful music and dark, expensive counters giving her the creeps. “I’m just driving you around, you don’t need to dress me up. My clothes are fine.”

“Nonsense,” Regina says, grabbing an ugly grey suit off one of the racks and holding it up in front of Emma, narrowing her eyes critically. She must like what she sees, because she drapes the suit over her arm and moves to the next rack. “Your clothes are totally inappropriate.”

“Hey --” Emma starts, but stops as a saleswoman walks up to them.

“May I help you?” the woman asks. She’s got her steel-grey hair slicked back into a severe bun, and she has a snobbish, pinched look on her face.

“Yes,” Regina says, handing the saleswoman the ugly suit without so much as glancing in her direction. “My...friend needs, well,” Regina pauses, looking Emma up and down. “Everything.”

“Everything?” the lady repeats, skeptically. 

“Yes,” Regina says, just as Emma says, “No.”

The woman looks between them, her forehead creased in confusion, the grey suit still held in her hands. 

“Yes,” Regina says again, before Emma can disagree, finally deigning to look at the saleswoman. When she does, her whole demeanor changes, leaning in to talk to the woman like the two of them have a secret. “Everything,” Regina confirms, sounding regretful. “Her wardrobe was...destroyed. In a tragic accident.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything because, seriously? A tragic wardrobe-destroying accident? Who the hell is going to believe that?

But apparently the saleswoman does believe it because her eyes go wide and she casts a pitying glance in Emma’s direction, taking in her jeans and her shirt and then nodding in understanding. “Oh,” the lady says gravely. “I see.” And then, she squares her shoulders and smiles brightly, like she's ready to tackle the challenge. “Well,” she says, reaching out and putting an arm gently around Emma’s shoulders and steering her towards the dressing room. “Why don’t you try this on, dear, while...” she glances over at Regina, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Regina,” she supplies, and the woman smiles gratefully.

“While Regina and I see what else we can find.”

Beside her, Regina smirks, a victorious look on her face. Ugh, coming here was _such_ a mistake. But, thanks to the whole Regina-is-paying-her thing, Emma doesn’t have many options here, so she just takes the suit from the saleswoman and heads into the dressing room. 

She’s managed to put on most of the suit -- trousers, blouse, and vest -- when Regina barges in, not even bothering to knock. She’s got a pile of clothing draped over her arm, everything in somber shades of blue and black and grey, the kind of stuff Emma would never in a million years pick for herself. But since Regina’s buying, Emma just sighs and turns around from where she’s standing in front of the mirror, holding her arms up so that Regina can get a good look at her.

“So,” Emma says. “What do you think?”

Regina looks at her up and down, pacing in front of her and studying her with narrowed eyes, while Emma just stands there, trying not to fidget. Despite her resistance to the whole suit idea, it's actually kind of sharp. The whole get-up isn’t nearly as terrible as she thought it would be, and she thinks she looks pretty good, all things considered. 

But then: “Put on the jacket,” Regina commands.

“It is a million degrees outside,” Emma says. “I’m not wearing the jacket.”

“If you’re going to wear a suit, you need to wear a jacket,” Regina says, like this should be obvious.

Emma rolls her eyes, looking down at herself and smoothing her hands over the tailored vest, which is much less dorky looking than she would have thought, but not exactly the height of comfort. “I not wearing the jacket,” she says again. “It’s this or nothing.”

“Fine,” Regina relents, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now take it off, and try this on.” She rustles through the clothes she just brought in, finally pulling out a silky black dress that’s not quite as business-like as Emma would expect.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted me to dress more appropriately.”

“This is appropriate.”

“How the hell is a cocktail dress appropriate for driving you around town?” Emma shrugs off the vest and starts working on the buttons of her shirt. 

“Need I remind you, Miss Swan, that you will also be accompanying me to a variety of business functions…” she trails off, and when Emma looks up, Regina’s eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on Emma’s chest. 

Emma smirks and unbuttons her trousers, pushing them slowly off her hips. “And what business functions require _that_?” she asks, nodding at the dress.

Regina swallows hard, dragging her gaze back up to Emma’s face, and her eyes are so dark they're almost black. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma smirks, even as she feels the atmosphere in the dressing room shift, like the air before a storm. That same spark that she felt before -- the same spark she felt last night -- flares between them, and she takes an unconscious step forward. “Why do I need this dress?" she asks, her voice low and quiet.

“Um…” Regina blinks, still looking a little dazed. “Dinner. Tonight.”

“We’re going to dinner?” Emma asks, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “Like a date?”

And that seems to be enough to shake Regina out of whatever spell she’s under. She presses the dress into Emma’s hands, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step back. “Of course not,” she snaps. “It’s business.”

“Right,” Emma mutters, pulling the dress over her head. The fabric feels soft and silky against her skin, and as she tugs up the zipper on the side, she can feel Regina’s eyes on her, watching closely. “So,” she says, trying not to fidget too much. “What do you think?”

“You look–” she starts, but then her phone rings, cutting her off. She looks at the display and rolls her eyes, gesturing for Emma to give her a minute. The conversation is short and quick, but when she hangs up, Regina tucks the phone back in her purse and says, “I need to get back into town.”

“Great,” Emma says, reaching for the zipper on her dress. “Just let me change and we’ll get out of here.”

“Not you, Miss Swan,” Regina says, reaching out and blocking Emma from leaving the dressing room, her arm pressing against Emma’s chest. “You’re staying.”

“What the hell for?” 

“You need to finish shopping,” Regina tells her. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her wallet. “Here,” she says, handing Emma her credit card and her car keys. "I'll take a cab."

“Seriously?” she says. “This morning you wouldn’t even let me borrow your car and now you’re just giving me the keys _and_ free rein on your credit card?”

Regina ignores her, snapping her wallet closed and slipping it back into her purse. “You need three suits, a cocktail dress, and a gown. ”

“A _gown_?” Emma repeats, incredulous. “Why the hell do I need a gown? Are we going to the prom or something?”

Regina rolls her eyes. “I have tickets for the opera on Friday.” 

“The opera? Seriously?”

“You don’t like the opera?” From the tone of Regina’s voice, you’d think Emma had just admitted she kicked puppies in her spare time.

“No, I love it,” Emma says, unzipping the dress the rest of the way and tugging the straps off her shoulders, the dress pooling around her feet. “I go every week, take in a show between tricks.”

“Wonderful,” Regina says. “Then you’ll know what’s appropriate.”

“You’re seriously just going to leave me here?” Emma demands. 

“I’m not locking you in a dungeon, Miss Swan.” Regina reaches for the door handle, but Emma moves in front of her, stepping right into Regina’s personal space, close enough that she can feel the heat of her body even through her sensible business suit.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Emma asks. "I really could use help getting in and out of all these clothes..." She takes a step closer to Regina, moving so that her breasts brush up against Regina's arm. When Regina’s breath catches in her throat, Emma smiles to herself and presses one knee between Regina’s thighs. “I’m sure whatever’s just come up can wait a little while longer.”

Regina doesn’t respond, just swallows hard, her tongue darting out to lick the corner of her mouth, and Emma leans into her, close enough that her lips brush the shell of Regina’s ear. 

“You never told me whether or not you liked the dress,” she murmurs, pushing back just a little, just enough so that Regina can see her. And when Regina rakes her eyes down Emma’s body, to where the dress is still pooled at her feet, Emma can't help the shiver that runs down her spine. 

Because, the thing is, even though Regina’s kind of an uptight pain in the ass, Emma thinks she kind of likes her. She’s obviously attractive, and she's way classier than most of Emma’s clients, but it’s more than that. There’s a kind of sharp intelligence to her, and a sort of wry humor, and, well. She is really, _really_ attractive. It’s just a nice change of pace is all. Plus, despite all of her imperiousness, she’s almost absurdly easy to fluster, and Emma can’t help but feel a little rush of pleasure at the way Regina can’t seem to help but want her. 

So when Regina pulls her closer again, tugging her so that Emma’s hips press against hers, and Emma’s stomach flips, she tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just the pleasure of feeling in control, nothing more, but she can’t stop staring at Regina’s mouth. Her lipstick has mostly worn off, and there’s a small scar on her upper lip. Emma wonders what it would feel like against her skin, wonders if her mouth tastes different from the rest of her. She’s only a couple of millimeters from finding out when there’s a knock on the door behind her, startling both her and Regina enough that they both jump, jerking away from each other. 

“Is everything all right in there, ladies?” the saleslady calls, and Emma tips her head back against the door of the dressing room, stifling a groan of annoyance.

Regina blinks, shaking her head a little like she’s trying to clear it. Her cheeks are flushed, but she takes a step away from Emma, smoothing a hand down over her skirt and clearing her throat before reaching past Emma and pulling the dressing room door open. 

The saleswoman is standing outside, a pile of clothes held in her hand and a slightly confused expression on her face. Regina stares at her for a few beats, tilting her chin up and narrowing her eyes at the woman. “I’m leaving,” she says tightly. 

“Oh,” the saleswoman says, sounding confused. She glances down at the clothes she’s holding. “Well, I’ve--”

“She has my credit card,” Regina interrupts, nodding in Emma’s direction without actually looking at her. “Make sure she is appropriately dressed before she leaves.”

The saleswoman nods, looking a little confused.

“Regina…” Emma sighs. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against Regina’s wrist, and even though she pulls away, it’s apparently enough to get her attention. But when she does look at Emma, her face is blank, the flush gone from her skin, and Emma takes a step back, trying to pull herself together.

What the hell has gotten into her? This isn’t a romance, she reminds herself. It’s just business. And the fact that Regina suddenly seems to have a better handle on than she does right now it's just...Emma has no idea what the hell she's doing. 

“Three suits, a cocktail dress, and a gown,” Regina says again, like Emma might forget these super-complicated instructions.

Before Emma can say anything else, Regina ducks away from her and flees out of the dressing room and into the brightly lit store, leaving Emma standing alone in her underwear with the saleswoman, both of them watching as Regina walks away.


	5. Chapter 5

Emma ends up buying the little black dress, the one Regina picked out for her; she also buys the grey suit and two more just like it--one black and one navy blue--and she buys a gown. A red, floor-length gown, which makes her feel equal parts ridiculous and glamorous. She also buys six pairs of shoes, figuring that since Regina didn’t give her any specific directives as far as footwear was concerned, she should have a little leeway.

She pays for it all with Regina’s credit card and then drives Regina’s Mercedes back to Regina’s hotel. She wears the grey suit out of the store, her jeans and shirt balled up at the bottom of one of the shopping bags, and when she walks through the lobby of the Four Seasons, she feels weirdly not-out-of-place. Which is actually pretty disturbing, now that she thinks about it.

When she opens the door to the suite, the phone is already ringing, and Emma drops her bags in the foyer, dashing into the living room to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” she says, a little breathless. 

“Why the hell are you answering the phone?” Regina demands.

“Because it rang?” Emma says, rolling her eyes and tossing the key card onto the desk in front of her.

“ _Never_ answer my phone.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“I have meetings for the rest of the day, so I’ll need you to meet me in the hotel lobby at seven sharp.”

“For what?”

“My business dinner?” Regina says, sounding exasperated. “You’re supposed to accompany me, remember?”

“You mean you’re not even going to come to the door?” Emma teases. 

“This isn’t a date,” Regina snaps.

“Of course not,” Emma says. “So where are we going on this not-date?”

“L’Espalier.”

“What’s that?” Emma asks, dropping down into the soft leather desk chair and kicking her feet up on the polished wood in front of her.

“It’s a restaurant, Miss Swan.” 

“No shit,” Emma says, doing another eye roll. “I meant, what kind of restaurant is it?”

“It’s French,” Regina tells her. “And it’s _very_ expensive.”

“Awesome,” Emma says dryly. “I love overpriced French food.”

“Wonderful," Regina deadpans. "Did you buy a dress?”

“I bought two, actually. A gown _and_ and a cocktail dress.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you can follow basic directions,” Regina says. “Wear the cocktail dress tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emma says, and does a little salute, even if Regina can’t see it. 

“Seven o’clock, Miss Swan,” Regina says, but it sounds like she’s smiling. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

*

Emma’s in the lobby at seven o’clock on the dot, but Regina’s nowhere to be found. She’s wearing the black dress and a pair of obscenely expensive, obscenely high heels, and after about five minutes her feet have started to ache, so she heads over to the hotel bar and orders a whiskey, charging it to Regina’s room. 

She’s halfway through her drink when Regina finally shows up, striding through the bar with a scowl. When she finally sees Emma, her face hardens, but Emma doesn’t get up, just stays right where she is, taking a long sip of her drink. 

“You were supposed to wait for me in the lobby,” Regina tells her, flicking up her wrist to look at her watch in annoyance. 

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be in the lobby thirty minutes ago.” Emma shrugs and takes another leisurely drink of whiskey.

“My meeting ran late,” Regina snaps, like this is somehow Emma’s fault. “And now we’re late, so let’s go.”

“Wait.” Emma reaches out and grabs Regina’s wrist, that strange electric feeling sparking lightly between them again. Emma tries not to react, and Regina glances down at where she’s touching her, but doesn’t pull away. “Don’t you need to change?" Emma says. Regina's still wearing her black suit with the red silk shirt underneath, and Emma's feeling more than a little overdressed. "You know, put on some fancy cocktail dress like the one you made me wear?”

Regina rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “We’re late, Miss Swan. I don’t have time to change.” 

“The restaurant’s just down the street…” Emma says. After she got off the phone with Regina, she did some research just to get an idea about where they were going tonight beyond the fancy French food thing.

“Yes, and, as I just said, we’re already running late.” Regina finally pulls her wrist out of Emma’s grasp, and heads towards the door, not even bothering to look back to see if Emma’s following her.

Emma sighs and grabs her purse, dropping a couple of dollars on the bar for the tip and nodding her thanks to the bartender as she follows Regina outside. 

Once they’re out of the hotel, Regina heads for the valet stand, which is strange because the restaurant is literally right down the street from the hotel, just a few blocks away. 

“What are you doing?” Emma calls over to her.

“Getting the car.”

“The restaurant is only four blocks from here, Regina. We can walk.”

Regina laughs, disbelieving. “We are not walking, Miss Swan.” She turns to the valet. “Bring the car, please.” 

“You seriously want to drive _four blocks_?” she asks. Beside them, the valet hesitates, glancing between them, unsure. “That’s insane.”

“We are running late,” Regina says, speaking slowly, like Emma might not have understood this the first three times she said it. 

“Yeah, I got that. But it’s going to take longer to drive than it is to walk.” Emma gestures at the street in front of them, which is crowded with cars, red brake lights lit up everywhere.

“Miss Swan–” Regina starts, but Emma interrupts, cutting her off. She’s just completely fed up with all of this. 

“Listen, lady. I’m walking. If you want to drive, fine. Go for it. But me? I’m walking” And with that, she turns on her heel and starts down the sidewalk, not even bothering to see if Regina follows. 

*

Regina spends the entire walk to the restaurant complaining -- complaining about Emma refusing to drive, complaining about the weather, complaining about her day full of meetings. It’s incredibly annoying, but Emma tries to focus on how much money she’ll have at the end of the week, trying to tune Regina out.

It works for the most part, and Emma barely hears anything Regina says until they get to the restaurant. 

But then: “Damn it,” Regina says, and there’s enough ire in her voice that Emma snaps to attention. Regina has her phone out, reading a text message and sighing heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

“He cancelled.” Regina sighs, rubbing her forehead. “My meeting...he’s not coming.”

“Oh, well. Do you want to leave?” Emma asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. There’s actually a fairly large crowd of people in the foyer of the restaurant, and Emma thinks she might go crazy if she has to stand here and make small talk until their table is finally ready. 

“Well…” Regina sighs, and Emma feels a surge of hope. A surge of hope that is immediately crushed when the hostess sidles up to tell them their table is ready.

*

“So, Miss Swan,” Regina says, folding her napkin into her lap and clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “Tell me about yourself.”

They’ve ordered a bottle of wine, something red and expensive that Regina picked out, and Emma takes a sip, stalling a little, trying to come up with a way to deflect this conversation. Unfortunately, she comes up blank so: “Um,” she says. “Why?”

Regina rolls her eyes. “Because we will be spending the next six days in each others’ company, and I’d like to know a bit more more about you. So: tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?” Emma says, still stalling.

“I don’t know.” Regina throws a hand into the air in exasperation and reaches for her wine glass. “Where did you grow up?”

“Here, mostly,” Emma says, taking another long drink of wine. Combined with the whiskey it’s making her head feel a little fuzzy, but if she's going to spend the night fielding questions about her past, a little bit of fuzzy-headedness is probably for the best. 

“Mostly?” Regina repeats.

Emma shrugs, trying for nonchalance. She’s really not interested in delving into the tragedies of her life right now. Or ever, actually. “I lived here when I was a kid,” she says. “And then I spent some time in Phoenix when I was a teenager.”

“And Phoenix didn’t work out for you?” Regina tilts her head, studying Emma closely enough to make her feel a little uncomfortable. “Why not?”

Emma shrugs again, shifting in her seat and taking another sip of her wine, trying not to think about Phoenix, about the choices she’s made, about the things she’s lost. “It just...it wasn’t for me.”

“Hmmm,” Regina says, this look on her face like she wants to ask something else. Luckily, the waiter chooses that moment to appear, and Emma breathes a small sigh of relief. She’s so busy being grateful that Regina isn’t asking any more questions that it takes her a second to realize Regina orders not only her own dinner, but Emma’s as well, plucking the menu out of Emma’s hands and handing it to the waiter before Emma has a chance to react.

“Did you just...order for me?” Emma asks once the waiter’s gone.

Regina shrugs and takes a prim sip of her wine. “I didn’t think you were familiar with the menu and wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable choosing something on your own.”

“You didn’t think I’d be comfortable ordering my own dinner?”

“I have excellent taste,” Regina says, sounding defensive.

“You’ve also got some pretty serious control issues, lady.”

“I beg your pardon.” Regina arches an eyebrow, leaning closer and leveling Emma with an imperious glare. 

Emma glares back, and even though she is more than a little pissed off, she feels the stirrings of something else inside of her, dark and electric, and she shifts in her seat, moving so that she’s leaning closer to Regina. 

When she does, her leg brushes up against Regina’s under the table. It’s just the barest of contact, but Regina’s eyes go dark, so Emma doesn’t move away, her heart beating way too fast in her chest.

*

By the time they’re done with dinner, Emma’s feeling more than a little out of sorts. Part of it is the alcohol, she knows. Regina ordered a second bottle of wine at some point, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but now just means that everything seems kind of hazy and unreal, the edges all blurred.

But another part of it, a larger part than Emma wants to admit, is Regina. There’s something about her that makes Emma feel off-balance, some heady mix of attraction and irritation and something else that Emma can’t quite figure out. 

It must have rained while they were in the restaurant; the streets are wet and the temperature has dropped dramatically, the air cold enough to make Emma shiver in her skimpy cocktail dress. She ducks her head against the cold, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning in a little closer to Regina.

“Are you cold, Miss Swan?” Regina asks, and her words are slightly slurred. It’s definitely a good thing that Emma insisted they walk to the restaurant since neither one of them are in any condition to drive. 

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, crossing her arms tighter and trying to keep her teeth from chattering. 

Beside her, Regina sighs heavily, and then she’s shrugging off her jacket, her movements a little loose from the wine, before reaching over and draping it around Emma’s shoulders. 

“Thank you,” Emma says, surprised. The jacket is warm from Regina’s body, and it smells like her, like whatever expensive perfume she wears, something light and vaguely spicy. 

“Yes, well, I can’t very well have you freezing to death in the middle of the street,” Regina says, but there’s something off about her tone; she’s trying to sound blasé, but she’s not quite pulling it off. “After all, how would that look for me?”

Emma rolls her eyes even as she pulls the jacket closer around her, the perfume smell surrounding her, making her feel a little dizzy. It’s a feeling that only gets more intense as Regina loops her arm through hers, pulling Emma close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off her body, the two of them pressed together as they make their way down the rain-wet street back to the hotel.


End file.
